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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605441">Mise en place</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlltheB7/pseuds/AlltheB7'>AlltheB7</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, F/F, Make them whatever queer you want, POC Hermione, Pakistani Hermione, Queer Women, Sarcastic Pining, Sort of romantic?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:20:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605441</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlltheB7/pseuds/AlltheB7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Pansy will do many things to make her daughter proud, including hound Hermione Granger.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mise en place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>BDE - big dyke energy</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sitting amidst other bland parents, I take stock: Selwyn, Malfoy, Longbottom, Abbott, Frawley, Gaunt. No other pureblood families sit on the school board despite the fact that a number more will have children attending. It is not as many as there could be, but it still constitutes over a third majority. </p><p>Leaning back, I look over through the dim smoky interior to find Granger a few seats ahead. She has worked quietly throughout the last year and a half, much quieter than in our school days, and I am left wondering where she found the patience. Or silent tenacity? Whatever it is, the woman is working much more effectively with others now. Maybe it took fifteen years to sink in, but she has apparently learned tact and cooperation. </p><p>I cough in the muggy driness of the vapors about me, and truly, whoever is running the newly minted "school board" could start by refreshing the vanishing charms that are supposed to keep the room viable. I clear my throat and murmur a <em>proluo</em> under my breath so I may live long enough to die of boredom. Merlin forbid someone make these meetings habitable. </p><p>The motion is granted and I shift in my seat. I have little interest in the matter so I understand why Granger angrily glares across the school board's aisle when I second her motion. But that is the way of things for me: things about life do not matter until they effect me. I am privileged in that regard--my ennui is grating to most. </p><p>The truth of it is Aurora loves Ursa and Ursa loves Aurora. Well, my daughter isn't <em>in love</em> with the elf, but she was half raised by the thing. And now that Aurora has grown to twelve, both cunning and righteous, I cannot deny her reasoning and logic that Ursa be freed. It's all rather sensible.</p><p>The big-eyed thing had wanted freedom since before Aurora's birth, and though I have few qualms about the order of things, I do have one about making life more difficult. In the end, sensibility endured; after all, the culture of forced poverty is abhorrent. Frivolous I may be, there is no substitute for decent clean clothes.  </p><p>And they get their own time off, they work just the same as any other wixen. It waAwkrd most for me, but we have found a way. After all, it made Aurora happy. </p><p>The board elects the two of us to spearhead an investigation on how to transition as we are the only people who gave testimony on the matter. It is clear from the pointed way she refuses to look at me that Granger has no interest in working together to advance the freedom and civil liberties of house elves in the educational system. In fact, I have never seen the woman up and go so fast from the board room before. I am used to seeing her corner the administrators with that signature smile, somehow fierce and kind, and then lay logic and passion into them with soft spoken diction and knowledge beyond their abilities or predilections.</p><p>But not today. Today I'm trailing further behind Granger out of the conference room, and though it's in poor taste, I cast a spell to jam the door in front of her. With a loud thumping, the once-bushy-haired-now-plaited woman strides straight into it, expecting the wood to give. As I catch up, I hear her muttering, embarrassed and frustrated, huffing a counter spell before pushing the door open and bumping into a few more people.</p><p>"Careful, dear, I wouldn't want you hurt," I say quietly as I catch up to her coiled frame. She whips her head around and narrows her eyes.</p><p>"I'm sure," she retorts, resuming her brisk pace down the candlelit hallways. The loose pant legs whip about her legs and the blouse pulls back and forth between her shoulders and hips, accenting the line of her waist without hugging it. Granger has definitely grown since Hogwarts.</p><p>In spite of my skirt, I doggedly keep abreast and hand her my card. I already wrote my address on the back, to go along with my mobile. "I'm sure you're busy, but do send an owl or text, I would like to sit down and discuss a strategy."</p><p>She looks at the card over her shoulder, and I'm positively delighted at the wall she's erected and the hard glint in her dark eyes. She must have found a stylist after she left the redhead—I can tell she's had her eyebrows waxed and shaped because she looks beautiful. Gorgeous, even, in her way; from her plaited hair to her eyebrows and makeup, everything is controlled and in place. Simply beautiful in the way that comes from her family's blood and the luck of the draw, born beautiful and bright.</p><p>"Of course," her tone is polite as she takes the card, two things more than I had anticipated, so I smile coyly in turn.</p><p>"Take care, Ms. Granger," I say as we come to the floo network and turn sharply around the corner for my preferred hearth.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> In response to the owl I sent requesting an appointment, Granger has instead attached her full schematic on how to restructure the school along with a mock budget proposal with annotated allocations tracking how the school will keep up with their standard curriculum <em>and</em> begin paying livable wages for elves. It's impressive and admirable, but her vision, though not as drastic as the purported S.P.E.W., is understandably lacking circumspection, undoubtedly due to her lack of a pureblood upbringing.</p><p>Another request for an appointment is met with another adjusted budget proposal.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"It would seem you're a hard woman to get ahold of lately." I have tracked her down to a Lewisham cafe near her muggle home.</p><p>Abruptly, she freezes in front of me before turning around and glaring. "Indeed," she responds plainly.</p><p>"I have concerns about your proposed budget and the allocations. There are a few... aspects that I would like to discuss with you before our report is submitted."</p><p>Turning back towards the registers, her hair is in a French braid today and looks heavy. My fingertips itch and I lick my lips to moisten them as she quietly asserts, "I will be happy to confer with you as soon as you provide me your response to my latest proposed budget." Under her blouse I see her thin but wide shoulders stiffen and straighten.</p><p>"I would like to help, Ms. Granger," I say.</p><p>"I'm sure you would <em>love</em> to help, Mrs. Zabini," she retorts almost immediately. Then she steps up to the till and orders a small caramel macchiatto with whipped cream before leaving tip and bustling to the end of the counter.</p><p>I order a small black coffee and stroll over next to her in the handout area, assessing her quietly from the side. "What happened to the ginger?"</p><p>Ignoring me, the proud woman lifts her chin and looks away. The braid is neat, and her eyes clear and bright. In profile, Granger is a sight: strong and elegant lines outline her high cheekbones and jawline, the shape of her once bushy eyebrows now highlights the shape of her intelligent brow. Something about the shade of her skin emanates color, as though reflecting as much as it absorbs.</p><p>Her drink has been called while I was lost in thought because she is suddenly striding away through the glass door. I follow, almost tripping on my feet, and roll my eyes.</p><p>"Granger, I have my reasons for wanting to help." I think of Aurora's big beautiful eyes, just like her father's, like Hermione's. "Please let me help."</p><p>With a frustrated whirl, the woman angles her eyes upward and I'm paralyzed by her gaze.</p><p>"What are you getting out of it," she demands.</p><p>"The knowledge that I'm doing the right thing," I reply. And to my irritation, she laughs in my face, gorgeous dark depths crinkling at the sides as a subtly stained mouth stretches wide in a laugh. Delighted crescents, her eyes dance in mirth as the humored sound dies, "Well aren't we feeling precious, today." The sarcasm rankles.</p><p>"You're going to need my help if you want this passed," I drop my tone to warn her. At the challenging sound, she is narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms carefully around the drink.</p><p>"For what? To leak information?"</p><p>Suppressing the very real desire to roll my eyes, I sigh. "Because I have access to the sacred twenty-eight and because I have experience in creating a household that operates with freed elves." It's not an eloquent point, but it is direct, something I hope the woman appreciates.</p><p>Her eyebrows lift and she looks at me warily before nodding and giving an unenthusiastic "Okay."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><em>The audacity of this woman</em>, I think to myself as I stroll around the lake with Aurora. I clearly misinterpreted "Okay," because I have not heard or spoken with Granger in over a week. Of course, the woman has learned a thing or two about politely dismissing others, I must be slipping to have not accounted for it.</p><p>Now Aurora is back from Hogwarts on fall break and it's as if the universe is attempting to balance the scale by giving me a child as adamant as I was disinterested at her age. "Mother," her young firm voice cuts through my thoughts on Granger.</p><p>"Oui, ma puce," I reply without thinking, noting the dry muted heath Louise has mercilessly tamed. She stops on the wooded path that runs along the shore by our cottage home and gives me a look that harkens much too similarly to my own mother's indignant stare. I stop, casting her a curious look over my shoulder.</p><p>"You're not listening," she accuses rightly and I take a moment to breathe and go back over things I heard but had not processed. "Indeed, I was not. Apologies, dear," I pair the earnestness of my voice with a soft look, shifting to listen more closely.</p><p>"I want to have Rose over," she repeats.</p><p>"And why is that?" I inquire. This Rose girl has been talked about nearly non-stop since Aurora's return. One would think the sun shone out of her bum, according to my child."</p><p>Because I want to show her the recreation room and our estate," Aurora explains and narrows her eyes again. Clearly I was not listening as closely as I should have been listening. "She has a small yard and it's not big enough to really practice quidditch drills, speed drills."</p><p>"Well, I see no reason why your friend cannot visit." Permission is freely given, after all, how much trouble can two girls get into?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"Hello to you, Rose," I greet a bit warmer to the lanky redheaded girl at the door. "It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Granger." Rose is a narrow thing with bright brown eyes and wavy hair and she has that smile that stretches beyond her lips and into her whole face. "Hi!" she immediately replies with a wave. "It's so nice to meet you."</p><p>Narrowing her eyes, Granger takes a deep breath and smiles, "Mrs. Zabini," she manages.</p><p>Broadening my smile, I pull back the door as Aurora hauls her friend away upstairs with a "Be back later, Ma!"</p><p>"No jumping on the furniture," I <em>sonorous</em> upwards and tuck the wand against my thigh. Turning back to Granger, my heart stutters and I fight a flush by turning towards the kitchen. She is much too bright, my nerves have been more sensitive lately. "If you have time, you're welcome to stay for afternoon tea," I offer over my shoulder, leading the shorter woman back.</p><p>Granger follows and I cast the usual spells to bring the tea and scones. Ursa is no doubt trailing Aurora and her new friend, so it makes sense to serve it myself. "It's Parkinson," I explain. "Blaise and I never married. In deference to our families' interests, we arranged a union to conceive an heir. She was given his name and will inherit both our estates." I wave a hand, "Of course, that is assuming neither of us conceives nor adopts another."</p><p>Hair pulled back into a twist, Granger looks around. "Where are your elves?"</p><p>Really, the woman may have learned a few tricks, but being polite is clearly not one of them. "Well, we only have four," I explain. "Ursa is probably following Aurora and Rose," I wave a hand, "Hermie and Bernie are off today, and Louise is most likely tending the grounds."</p><p>"Louise?" Granger asks.</p><p>Shrugging as I begin pouring the tea, I smile, "She wanted to name herself. Like Ursa." The warm lavender scent wafts over the table and I set the pot down carefully amidst the set. Ursa had always enjoyed the fairy tales Aurora read to her.</p><p>Granger pulls a face, "Your elves are free?"</p><p>I avoid rolling my eyes by taking a deep breath and focusing on Granger's features. "Mm," I answer before sipping my tea. Regaining some manners, the woman picks up her tea and sips. Her pinkie finger drifts up and before I can stop myself, I am correcting the gesture like I would Aurora, "Pinkie down, don’t be a villain."</p><p>"Oh," the solicitor clears her throat and looks down, slightly embarrassed. "I hadn't realized," she says. </p><p>The silence settles as I take a moment to sip the tea. The flavor blossoms delicately and I close my eyes a moment to gather my wits before taking advantage of the opportunity.</p><p>"Since you're here—" I begin. </p><p>"Well, I should be—" she starts.</p><p>I smile patiently, but continue, "While you're here we can discuss your latest budget and I can hopefully explain some of the finer details of owning elves and freeing them." She has been dodging me for weeks and I have no intention of letting a chance like this slip away. I <em>accio</em> the latest folio she had owled and begin flipping through pages to reorient myself to the numbers and ideas.</p><p>Setting her jaw, Granger sips her tea again and looks away. "Very well," she agrees quietly and settles the teacup down a little loudly, clearly unused to such things.</p><p>Suppressing the smirk I offer a scone and raspberry-lavender marmalade.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Looking at Dunbary angrily, I stride to the office door. The undersecretary hustles to shoot a spell under the door, seeing as he knows I will magically push him out of my way. My wand is at the ready, however, and I cast a faster spell blocking his own away from the entryway.</p><p>"Ms. Granger has requested—" the husky short fellow begins.</p><p>"That's nice." I have been more than patient with Granger in the past weeks, practically a saint. As he moves to try to stop my stride, to intercept my determination to walk through to the office, I drop a lunch bag on his desk.</p><p>"Cecile's?" he questions, eyes wide. </p><p>Giving the short man my favorite shark-like grin, I step forward until he's backed down into his chair. "I won't be but a few moments," I promise with a wink and push through Granger's door.</p><p>The top of her hair is braided back, quill twitching as she flicks over a parchment. Without looking up, she murmurs a "Do be sure to take lunch, I won't need you for anothe—" </p><p>"Lunch?" I offer, holding up the bag.</p><p>Her eyes immediately furrow into dissatisfaction as she frowns, taking in my presence. Lips pursed, she finally meets my eye. "It's you."</p><p>"It is me." Pushing off the rejection, I smirk and set the bag on a side table, pulling out the takeaway containers. "Have you had the mussels from Cecile's?"</p><p>"You could have scheduled an appointment instead of barging into my office," her voice clips.</p><p>"I think you misunderstand schedules. Or you purposefully instructed your dear undersecretary to refuse to give me time." At that I flash another smile, "But we both know that Hermione Granger would never be so petty."</p><p>"We," the comment comes sarcastically, "know nothing of such a thing."</p><p>"Mm," I hum, handing Granger the container. Both of us certainly know exactly what has happened. "Either way, from the sounds of things, it's lunch and you won't be needing Dunbary. You can regale my lack of decorum over food." The remaining container has my favorite ravioli and I flip the lid, leaning forward to take a big sniff of the delicious food. Thank Morgana for stasis charms.</p><p>"Is that ravioli?" her voice drifts over, curious.</p><p>Though her face is neutral, her eyes, no longer wary, glitter. Looking back down at my favorite dish, I consider lying. "It is."</p><p>The color of her eyes enthralls and I am caught, trapped by their shape and softening. If someone's eyes could hold the intangible, it would be Granger's. They are everything—soft, tough, bright, shadowy, deep, penetrating. </p><p>"Give me your ravioli and I'll consider not having you banned from my office," she orders, eyes moving back up to mine.</p><p>I had lost before she ever spoke. "It's the least I could do," I say as I hand over the food.</p><p>Granger's lips twitch and she holds up a ravioli and says to it, "Smart woman."</p><p>I eat the mussels, ignoring the delighted moan from Granger every so often as she devours my ravioli. It is uncouth, really, for her to enjoy my lunch suchly. </p><p>Waiting for an amenable silence, I take a deep breath and set the container off to the side and clear my throat. "Ursa has volunteered to come to the school to talk with other elves."</p><p>Rolling her eyes, Granger wipes her mouth with a napkin. "That will prove less successful than you imagine," the low voice warns.</p><p>I nod, knowing the story of Dobby already. "Perhaps. But consider a mandatory meeting--"</p><p>"There are more elves in Hogwarts who will not abandon their positions for a meeting. Not to mention getting all of them to gather at the same time would be impossible." For a woman bent on doing this properly, Granger seems stalwart.</p><p>"Then we have two meetings," I conclude. "One in the morning and one in the evening. We don't give any elf the opportunity to choose enslavement."</p><p>At this, Granger's eyes narrow and she inhales to argue.</p><p>Leaning forward I push on to avoid another interruption. "No elf will ever be slave, but -" I iterate, "all elves will have contracts." I think of how Bernie had not wanted freedom, had chaffed indignantly, but the perceived comfort of a contract soothed the sting, somewhat. It allowed the elf to keep the idea of upholding his duty while also exerting no magical bindings to his performance.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>In spite of herself, Granger laughs at my barb at the minister's expense. It took a year, but the elves in Hogwarts have all signed contracts of varying lengths and duties. I seldom get served a cup without a scowl at Hogwarts, but nonetheless, the elves are free. </p><p>"Honestly," she disparages, "the man is as useless as Fudge."</p><p>Nodding, I agree, "Fudge had the decency of being given the boot."</p><p>She huffs and leans back against the island. This has become a routine afternoon tea since Granger's first foray into my kitchen. We migrated from tea to the muted afternoon light suffusing across the kitchen floor. Errant flyaways halo her face and she is as beautiful today as she was months ago. Eyes wandering, I take in the muggle jeans and bourbon tone wide-sleeved pullover.</p><p>"I must know—do you have a stylist?" I ask as my eyes move upward and back to her face.</p><p>She flushes and that adorable look curls in my belly. "Well, I had a stylist," she admits, looking down.</p><p>"They are quite good," I compliment, eyeing her simple chic outfit again if only so I can trace the outline of her body. It's rather uncouth of me, but she is in my kitchen laughing and blushing.</p><p>"Yes," Granger replies flatly, eyes darting away again. "She was." </p><p>I wait for the rest of the story, but she remains silent. "Well, who was she?" I ask. </p><p>"Millicent," Granger admits finally, "Bulstrode." </p><p>My eyebrows must have hit my hairline because Granger laughs at my expression. </p><p>"Millicent was your stylist?" I am imagining the power suited Millicent strutting into Hermione Granger's office with her substantial BDE and cutting remarks. "I hope she had the decency to keep those mitts to herself," I snark. </p><p>We all knew Millicent as a handsy woman. </p><p>Another blush, darker this time, suffuses Granger's cheeks. Oh, dear, she is delectable. Eyeing Granger more closely, I decide to leave things be. After all, she finally accepted to sit down with me, the least I can do is avoid this one teeny morsel of curiosity burning inside my soul. I pick up the lemonade Ursa brought back from the market and take a drink to avoid saying something terribly queer and flirtatious. </p><p>"Millicent was professional," Granger retorted. "I would recommend her to anyone—she has an eye for it."</p><p>I hum into the drink again and bite my tongue. Millicent has an eye for style—and married women. When had Granger separated from the ginger? As I contemplate my jealousy, Granger clears her throat. </p><p>"Have you ever used a stylist before? Millicent was my first. It was fascinating and useful—I'd never put much thought into what I wore—" well, that was obvious, we all could see, "but Millicent explained and showed me a lot." </p><p>I'm sure she did. "No, I've never had a stylist outright, but—" I wave my hand with a smirk. Granger nods.</p><p>Unable to help my curiosity, I have to ask, "Did she take you to Paris? Show you her favorite views—a lot of her inspiration comes from there." </p><p>A smaller blush, but Granger doesn't look away when she answers, "Yes, she did." </p><p>Of course Millicent charmed the muggle-born with her backstory and francophilia. How typeset. I would never take Granger to Paris to charm her like I would charm other women. She isn't like other women--she deserved better than the well-worn catacombs and cityscape dining. What a shame to have taken such a woman to Paris for madeleines and wine. I sigh. </p><p>"Have you stayed in touch with Millicent?" Granger asks, eyes narrowing.</p><p>"Mm, yes, we stay in touch," I say as I turn to pull out the cheese plate. I slide it to the counter next to Granger. "Shall I warm the brie?" I offer.</p><p>Her flinty umber eyes assess me closely. "No thank you. It would seem you have your own experience with Millicent," she presses. </p><p>With a short snort, I take a bite of the camembert and mull over my response. "I have," I supply unhelpfully. </p><p>At this, Granger leans closer, head dipping near my shoulder as she slowly reaches for a cracker and cheddar. Styled or no, she remains a woman of simple tastes. </p><p>Despite my initial delight in riling her, I have found myself floundering as of late. Back against the counter, it doesn't take much to scent the hair product in her loose curls—coconut and something else warm—is inviting and wraps itself around my brain, squeezing snugly and pressing inside my mind. Hermione Granger has infiltrated my sensibilities, dominated my political activity, and weaseled her way into my home. A most pernicious of ivies, she found a bare patch in the garden, twirling herself beautifully about my life and invisibly rooting in my thoughts, oblivious of her grasp. After all, an ivy cannot be anything but itself, unfurling under the sun and reaching, ever reaching, for more. Even in the worst of conditions, she has persevered. This is all Granger knows—the pursuit of her goals, an unwavering dedication unhampered by war and torture. </p><p>Having a few more intimate conversations, learning of her heritage, I now understand that the foundation of her self-righteousness stems from being raised Muslim in Rochdale. Her grandmother, a Pakistani refugee, arrived post-war with her family. Hermione speaks of her grandmother fondly, of evenings spent with family during Ramadan, tales of home and struggle and fierce independence already a foundation of her history. Her family lived in racism and bigotry, but her grandmother was smart, and refused to give up her dreams of becoming a doctor. Of her push to fulfill her children's dreams, too. Of Hermione's mother's passion to become a dentist. She had married Frederick Granger, became a certified nurse, and kept her faith against the monumental push of assimilation. And that is how Granger came to Hogwarts—a small bushy-haired thing with teeth too large and eyes too bright, somehow born magical and without a shred of proper English etiquette. </p><p>And here I am, born and raised pureblood, stiff in my manners and sharp-tongued, watching and collecting the images of a woman beyond my world, beyond, even, the weak conceptualizations of what a person can be—woman, friend, witch, strong, powerful, kind, compassionate—and more, so much more. </p><p>All firm lines and warm skin, she has come back to my kitchen, the illusion of being here for our children now gone as the girls have returned to school, and here she is at the table, reviewing numbers and talking with Ursa and Louise at length. Earlier she scheduled to return to speak with them next week without my being here—an idea so wild to Ursa that her bobbling head whipped about to seek permission from me. I shrugged and let her determine her own timetable. She is my maid, now, I refuse to be her schedule-keeper.</p><p>Hermione’s sharp shoulder bumps into mine and I raise my eyes from the floor where I had been lost in thought to find Granger's sharp eyes moving up and down my face. "So what happened between you and Millie?"</p><p>Thinking of the domineering woman, I roll my eyes as if bored and affect a bored tone, "Nothing much, I simply do not care much for her cooking." Which is accurate—the woman could burn water.</p><p>Granger presses incrementally closer, her focus glinting, "I didn't mind her hands, but perhaps that's only because I was used to the fumbling of dolts."</p><p>I consider the truths Granger speaks without saying and smirk, "Far from me to comment on a man's incompetence."</p><p>The bark of laughter from Granger tugs a sentimental corner of my gut and I smirk when she retorts, "No, Parkinson, don't start showing discretion now, I want to hear of Blaise's incompetence."</p><p>The low tone of her voice and the smoothe of her skin as she looks up, the heavy sway of brown curls before me steal the voice from my throat. The witch plays with magicks that have nothing to do witchcraft and everything to do with the intangible rhythm of my pulse. Speechless, I hold my breath a moment and carefully turn back to the cheese plate. Most of the camembert is gone, the cheddar and brie remain. Next time I will invite her to lunch at the cafe, avoid this appalling rush of blood from my brain to parts of me that should not be falling sway to this muggle-born.</p><p>"Well, seeing as how Blaise couldn't find a quaffle if it hit his face, the sexual aspects of our union were not, shall we say, mind-altering. Compared to that, yes, Millie has something akin to finesse." I shrug at this, clinically detaching myself from the memory; she had been all shoulders and pressure. I imagine she has found a semblance of subtlety and nuance over the course of time. </p><p>Over the rim of her teacup, Granger's eyes dance and I feel as naked as an elf in rags, unable to break away and yet beholden. She lowers her cup and pauses to think, gathering her thoughts.</p><p>"There is a certain...appeal to power-exchange," she concedes, lifting one of those dreadfully well-formed eyebrows whose movement strings itself to my heart rate, pulling with each twitch.</p><p>"Of course there is, darling," I drawl, stepping away to refill my tea, wishing for Ursa to interrupt us, to bring something for me to approve. "And like I said, I'm sure she has...developed her repertoire from when were young. But this is all rather crude, isn't it? I cannot imagine that you find this chatter fulfilling."</p><p>My hands flicker over the leftover cucumber and salmon sandwiches, piling one of each on my plate if only to busy my digits and mind with something else beyond this witch. We haven't discussed the latest news of Malfoy being outed in Knockturn Alley or her former husband's new contract with Chudley.</p><p>Having found suitable topics, I turn to find Granger nearly upon me and I yelp, effectively tossing the sandwiches. Somehow I retain the plate.</p><p>"Merlin!" my heart hammers as Granger laughs and magicks the sandwiches back to the plate, ill-fitted and a bit scruffy. I eye the floored sandwiches with disdain. Who puts floor sandwiches onto a plate from which one eats? What dreadful manners.</p><p>"You think you're more adept than Millie?" Granger asks, gently lifting the plate from my hand and setting it to the side, edging closer.</p><p>"Excuse me?" I try to sniff at the suggestion, but the words come out borderline breathless as I back into the highbacked chair.</p><p>"Don't be obtuse, Parkinson," Granger laments, dark eyes hooded and peering up at me.</p><p>Heart in my throat, I realize the woman <em>knows</em> and I struggle to find my figurative footing. "Oh, so this is your way of what—coming on to me?—of flirting? Discussing Bulstrode's man-hands and frightening sandwiches from my plate?"</p><p>A flicker of irritation passes through her features and I realize that she has been playing along in this charade of tea and crumpets. Surely, I would have picked up on it before? Mind whirring, I am reviewing past moments—tea, lunches in her office, meetings at the cafe—trying to pinpoint the encounters, attempting to compile a trail of evidence when she slides a hand around my waist and pulls so that we're pressed together and my mind blanks. She is strong.</p><p>"No, this is me coming on to you, Parkinson," the wide lips murmur before pressing softly against my own. Their gentle press holds, slotting carefully until our lips cushion together. Then she pulls back ever so slightly.</p><p>Frozen from the intimate contact, heart racing and lips buzzing, my eyes are locked to Granger's mouth as I struggle to find the appropriate thing to say.</p><p>I had originally planned to seduce her that first afternoon tea, but then we had another tea time and she was so earnest, so kind, even in her hard-edged way. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. I was supposed to bumble my way through a friendship until saying something atrocious and pushing her away until the only times we could possibly see each other were September first and the last Friday of June each year. I had a plan for the eventuality of her departure, for the rationale I would use in my suspended moments alone-ness.</p><p>The warmth and color recede as she pulls back at my inaction. Unconsciously my body sways forward just so and I blurt, "You had the cheddar."</p><p>The once hooded carob eyes widen and then narrow. "Excuse me?" She moves to step back, but I panic, pulling her back towards me with a hand behind her neck and kiss her rather sloppily.</p><p>Mortified at myself, I lick my lips. "I wasn't expecting that."</p><p>Granger's eyes remain wary and her words move slowly, "Is that you coming on to me?"</p><p>I clear my throat again, acutely aware of my apparent dull-headedness, "Hardly," I reply, gathering the nerves in my gut and shoving them ruthlessly down like a mandrake in a pot and covering, burying them forcefully. "I usually charm them with witty repartee and money. I <em>am</em>  well-endowed."</p><p>Finally, a small laugh and I am as relieved as I am terrified.</p><p>Slowly, I run my hands up her arms, gathering one to guide it up to my shoulder as I slide my palm down her side and thumb along her ribcage as I guide her head upward with the other. "This is how civilized witches do it," I whisper into the soft press of her mouth.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"Nous sommes en retard, ma puce!" I call up to Aurora. A moment later her feet come tumbling loudly downward, an erumpet's worth of manners.</p><p>Granger eyes me over the morning coffee she insists on drinking and I pout at the face. "What?"</p><p>Ignoring me with a long breath in, she sighs, turning back to the report in her hand.</p><p>"What?" I ask again as Aurora kisses my cheek.</p><p>"Bonjour, maman," she busses. "Bonjour, Granger," she says around the toast being shoved in her mouth.</p><p>"Bonjour, ma puce. Ou est Le Fleur?"</p><p>Granger rolls her eyes and sips the drink. "Bonjour, Rorie," the witch greets.</p><p>Tugging the report from her hand, I stare at Granger, "What?" I insist.</p><p>"Honestly," she rolls her eyes again. "You're such a snob." She says it with a smile in her eyes as she snatches the report back.</p><p>"Bien, duh," I reply with a nasal snort.</p><p>Rorie chuckles and calls up, "Rose! The snob is wondering where you are!"</p><p>Horrified, I stare at my daughter like the heathen she apparently is, shouting like a miscreant in my kitchen.</p><p>A distant <em>sonoroused</em> "Coming!" drifts down.</p><p>I gesture upward with a hand as I sip the tea, conveying that that is the appropriate way to communicate through the house.</p><p>Aurora shrugs and rolls her eyes and for a moment it looks just the same as when Granger does it. I shoot a glare to Granger and raise my eyebrows with a hand. <em>Look what you have done.</em></p><p>Smiling, Granger raises her cup and winks. <em>Trollop</em>, I mutter to my tea, and twirl my wand, sending the trunks floating off to the boot now that Rose has made it downstairs.</p><p>Rose, now taller than me, bustles in and pops in another piece of bread to the toaster before throwing an arm around Granger. "Don't cry, Mum," she arrogantly states. "I know it's my last year and that you're proud of who I've become, but don't worry. I'll make sure I fail all my NEWTs and come back to stay for another five years like a proper muggle child. Pansy says I can stay in the basement. Right, Pans?"</p><p>The gorgeous eyes round in alarm and it's my turn to smugly laugh at Granger over my tea.</p><p>Rose is as likely to fail her NEWTs as Granger was. Smart and daring like Granger, but athletic, she has been a quidditch captain the past two years, playing against Aurora ever since second year. I secretly adore their friendship and camaraderie, only occasionally wishing that things had been like that for my days at Hogwarts. But they weren't and Granger and I have worked closely with McGonagall for the last four years to make things better for our children.</p><p>Ursa cracks into the kitchen, big eyes watery and sad.</p><p>"Merlin's beard," I sigh, knowing what's coming next. The creature who started this mess has to be here, of course, to see off her favorite human. As she hugs Aurora fiercely, I sniff over my tea, offput.</p><p>"Come here," Granger orders, pulling my hand. And like that, her thumb traces under my wet eyes. "There you are," she murmurs against my lips with that magic-forsaken smile.</p><p>Huffing, I clear my throat. "Yes, yes, we're all so very emotionally late. Come now, step lively," I bark heading to the car, jingling keys.</p><p>From behind me I hear Granger scramble to spell the dishes to the sink. "No-nono, Ms. Parkinson," Granger commands, skirting quickly around me and grabbing the keys. "I will drive, thank-you-very-much."</p><p>Aurora and Rose share a look and climb in the back. Rose was able to get her license this past summer and she's mostly polite about it.</p><p>"Well then." I am offended and settle into the passenger seat. I'm an alright car driver. No one has been hurt. I haven't passed the exam as of last year, but only because the instructor was faint of heart and I missed one exit ramp. And almost hit a man jaywalking. But he was the one that chose to walk when the sign clearly blinked red!</p><p>"You'll get there, sweet," Granger pecks my cheek before backing out of the driveway. She navigates the vehicle and soon we're on our way. "As of right now, let's just say you lack a bit of...finesse. But we can work on that."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In my mind, Hermione and Pansy are both POC. Since there are a lot of latinx people around my region in USA, I wanted to make Hermione latinx. But on doing some googling on england immigration, I found there is a precedent for Pakistani immigration starting around the end of WWII.<br/>I've based this Hermione on a high school friend and canon character. I have done my best to honor both people in this rendition. If I have portrayed anyone or thing incorrectly or ignorantly, please let me know!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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